The Baron of Darkness
by SensitivelyNumb
Summary: During her first day in Gotham, Blake Collins encounters the notorious Batman. Soon after, she gets a job working for Bruce Wayne at Wayne Enterprises. Will Blake realize her nighttime agenda involves the same man as her day job? Will Bruce let down his protective wall, and finally allow someone in? Bruce W./Batman/OC
1. Chapter 1

I strode down the faintly lit alleyway, holding a clutch in my hand and a massive duffel bag over my shoulder. My combat boots clicked softly on the cobblestone street, causing me to cringe at each step. A sane person wouldn't be strolling through this area near midnight, but due to a late flight, here I was searching for my new apartment. I briefly pulled out a paper to confirm the address and came to a halt under a street light to read it.

The atmosphere was eerily quiet, excluding the light buzz of traffic in the distance, or a rustled leaf crunching beneath my foot. I murmured the street name to myself, hoping to find a sign to direct me. I nervously veered left through a more obscure pathway. I stopped myself when I detected the sound of hushed voices. I glanced upwards as I felt a presence above me. A shadowy animal, or human, leaped from the railing of a fire escape, and towards the voices.

"It's him!" a voice yelled. I recoiled as I heard a bottle shatter, and other people calling out. The shadow seemed to be causing quite the commotion. I debated my next course of action, then quietly walked in the direction of the noise, peering around a brick building to investigate. There were about fifteen men, all gripping various weapons. A white van was started with some of the men hurriedly loading crates into it. They looked like the stereotypical mafia-style drug dealers. I briefly wondered why they appeared so tense, and then I saw him. The center of attention was a dark caped figure who was attacking the apparent drug dealers.

He was dressed in a thick black body suit, held together with a wide belt containing slips for weapons. I could see a protruding grappling hook amongst a collection of what I believed to be ninja stars. I was uncertain whether his rippling cape was advantageous or simply a nuisance. While it hid the shape of his body from his enemies, it could also be grabbed onto. I also noticed a mask concealing everything but his eyes and jaw. It formed into two ear-like points at the top of his head. My first thought: bat.

The attacker had a strong stance, and clear skills; the other men had no idea what they were doing in comparison. The Bat was loosely surrounded, but didn't seem distraught. His confidence was clear. A few men took their chances shooting bullets at him, which he smoothly dodged. A man threw a knife at his chest, but he easily caught the weapon, throwing it aside. Another particularly brave soul sought out a fist fight. The hooded junkie swung a fist at the Bat's face who lazily deflected the blow, breaking the guy's arm in the process. From behind him, I saw someone harshly swing a bat down on his head. How ironic, the Bat got hit with a bat.

The Bat collapsed to the ground, and the men closed in. He tried to get to his feet multiple times, each resulting in a kick to his side. I wasn't even sure who the bad guy was here, and I obviously didn't think my actions through, but I came out from behind the building.

"Hey!" I said loudly, mentally slapping myself for my stupidity. They glanced up, probably all thinking how idiotic I was. I'm pretty sure I even saw the Bat facepalm. "Um-I think I saw the cops somewhere-coming this way. Yeah, they were definitely coming this way. You guys should all bail while you have the chance," I continued, nodding my head with a shrug.

"There are no cops down here, honey," a bald man with an Italian accent said to me, then looked back to the Bat with his foot on his chest. I was slightly put off that they didn't consider me a threat. The men resumed the beating and I realized that if I wanted to assist the Bat, I would have to step in. I unzipped my suitcase, and rummaged around for the pocket knife that my closest friend made me purchase "for safety". I finally grasped it and pulled it out, hesitantly walking within ten feet of the circle of men.

"Seriously though," I said, trying to sound bold. "You should go," I finished, wielding my pocket knife in front of my body like fire. I must have looked like a moron, a tragically heroic moron. A man nodded towards me, and a few guys left the group to come up to me.

At this point, the Bat had caught on, and swung his legs around the ground to trip the distracted dealers. He was back on his feet, fighting again. I grinned proudly and felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up at the two large blonde men in front of me who were probably twins. Then, in unison, they punched me in the face.

A couple minutes later, my eyes flickered open. I had been dragged off to the side of the alleyway. I tried to figure out who was winning, which wasn't difficult considering all of the bodies on the ground. I saw the Bat deliver a final punch to the bald man, who then proceeded to pass out. As the Bat bent over to grab something on the ground, I slowly stood up, dusting myself off, feeling a bit light-headed. Then he turned and faced me, walking closer.

"Why would you do that?" he demanded angrily in a rough, guttural voice. He took another step closer and towered over me by at least a foot. "I can handle myself, and I don't need unnecessary distractions." I felt strangely offended. He would have been dead if it weren't for me, right? I desperately hoped that his submission wasn't part of some sort of larger plan. So, I avoided the topic of fighting entirely.

"You should probably cut down on the cigarettes," I stated. "You sound like you're about to die any minute now. And I can hardly understand you." I wasn't used to being so outspoken, but this guy had no idea who I was, so I might as well speak my mind.

"Here," he said gruffly, shoving my closed pocket knife into my hand. I muttered thanks and looked around for my suitcase and wallet. I spotted them a few feet away and went to grab them. "And I don't smoke," he growled. When I turned back, he was gone.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I had managed to find my apartment. It was an older building, partially made of stone. I wandered into the entrance, and traveled up a rickety staircase. I found the door labeled fourteen, then opened it using a key I had mailed to me. I pushed the door open, and gazed around judgmentally.

It had four rooms; the kitchen, the bedroom, the living room, and the bathroom. The thin walls were beat up, and badly needed a paint job. I doubted that the previous owners had washed the floors once in their pitiful lives; the place was a mess. It would be bearable though, once my stuff had arrived, and I had furnished it to my liking.

I guessed that the appliances were newer, as well as a marble counter top and a few silver swiveling stools that were attached to the ground. I excitedly clapped my hands together as I entered the bedroom and saw a colossal contemporary bed taking up most of the space. I hadn't expected the place to come with a bed, explaining my pleasant surprise. I unpacked the few things I had brought with me: a sleeping bag, some clothing, shoes, a huge water bottle, a hairbrush and other cosmetics. Hopefully, the rest of my stuff would arrive soon, because I was living on bare essentials at the moment.

Just after I had pulled my pajamas on, my phone lit up. It was a reminder of my interview at Wayne Enterprise tomorrow morning. I glanced at the time, actually, it was in about six hours. I took out a black pencil skirt, a light gray blouse and a pair of matching gray flats. Thankfully, everything was wrinkle-free.

As I laid in my sleeping bag on top of the bare bed, I fretted over the interview. This was my first job after college, and I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into. Would I be a secretary? Would I be the assistant of himself? Or would they decide I qualified for neither, and offer me a position as custodian? And why the Hell did Gotham have a giant bat flying around? I gradually slipped into a worrisome sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When I awoke, it was just before seven in the morning. I pressed my face up against the crisp glass of my bedroom window, frowning as I looked at the threateningly gray sky. I grimaced as I thought of how I would get to my job interview in the rain, and was doubtful that I could even find my way out of the maze of alleyways.

I changed into my clothes, and applied simple makeup. My nimble fingers wove my hair into a french braid that ended in a loose bun. Once I was satisfied with my appearance, I realized how hungry I was. I hadn't eaten anything since the plane ride from Boston, yesterday afternoon. I guessed that was a personal record. I hurried down the steep apartment stairs, and out of the front door, holding a navy blue wallet.

I exhaled a sigh of relief as I emerged from the winding alleys, and saw other people hustling along the busy roads. The faint sunlight behind the towering buildings cast shadows across the crowded intersection, and warmed the colorless day. My phone vibrated in my hand and I slid it open, pressing it against my ear.

"Hello Miss Blake Collins," a robotic voice began. "Your interview location has been modified, and you are expected at Wayne Manor at nine." I froze in my steps, nearly tripping over the curb.

"Shit!" I cursed loudly, attracting curious stares form people passing by me. I jogged over to a taxi, and quickly opened the door before throwing myself in. I panted heavily, cringing at my lack of stamina.

"Wayne Manor please," I breathed, wondering absently why Mr. Wayne would be holding an interview in his home. Although, most people claimed its size rivaled a hotel's. The cab driver glanced at me in his mirror and grumbled his compliance, stamping his foot down on the gas until I banged my head on the back of his seat. I scowled at the bearded man, mentally flipping him off.

The taxi weaved through the torrid main streets, then traveled down a quieter road. Wayne Manor stood proudly on a carefully manicured lot, wrapped in tall fencing. In the center of the yard was a running fountain, overflowing with rain water. As the cab pulled closer, I handed the driver a twenty and walked up to the menacing gate. My mouth popped open in awe as the gate swung open before me. I trotted down the stone pathway, eager to be out of the heavy rain. After a struggle to climb the slippery steps up to the grand entrance, I held the brass knocker and batted it against the door. As I waited, I hopelessly attempted to adjust my wet hair and dripping clothes.

The door opened, revealing a smiling elderly man. His feathery hair was a white, like wisps of a cloud. He was garbed neatly in light gray pants, with a blazer concealing a dress shirt and a maroon tie. A smile touched my lips at his grandfatherly demeanor, and cheery aura.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss Collins," he greeted warmly, with a slight English accent. He ushered me into the house as I thanked him rather profusely. "Mr. Wayne should be down any minute now," he said kindly, while shaking my hand gently.

"My lord, you're freezing!" he exclaimed with worry. "Let's get you warmed up by the fire. Hot cocoa?" he asked, leading me into a heavily furnished room. I debated whether accepting would seem unprofessional, but decided that I couldn't refuse a good chocolate drink.

"That would be great. Thank you, Mister..." I trailed off, not knowing his name.

"Alfred is fine, Miss. I'll go boil some milk for you," the butler said cheerfully.

**Bruce Wayne/Batman's Point of View**

Bruce rolled himself out of his spacious bed, immediately dropping to the floor for push-ups. During his second set, he heard Alfred knock on the door. He called for Alfred to come in.

"Sir, a young lady is here for an interview," the butler said, opening Bruce's door. Bruce raised his eyebrows in surprise. He wasn't aware of an interview here, especially at this hour.

"Shouldn't Lucius be doing that at the company?" he inquired. Alfred stood uncomfortably in the doorway, his loose arms tentatively clasping each other.

"Since you're looking for a personal assistant, I thought that you would rather interview her yourself. Therefore, I took the liberty of rescheduling it, sir," Alfred murmured sheepishly. "Might I say, it would be in your best interest to get dressed." Bruce grimaced, glancing down at his tattered sweatpants and bare torso. Then he rushed to dress properly while Alfred distracted his guest.

Within a few minutes, Bruce was tidied up, and headed downstairs. He adjusted his tie, and strolled into the office where the young woman was sitting. Alfred must have said something amusing, because as she was sipping from a mug, she laughed and began choking on its contents. Alfred hurried over to her, patting her back as she coughed. When the woman realized he was in the room, she blushed madly and stood up to shake his hand. Bruce grasped her delicate hand, and was surprised at how firm her grip was. She was small; he doubted she was much over five feet, and that caused her to appear weak. Weak, but familiar.

"Mr. Wayne," she said formally. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she continued, visibly wincing at her obviously faked professional attitude. She pulled her hand out of his, prodding a piece of wavy brown hair from her slim face. He searched her for any signs of trauma from their previous encounter, and noticed faded bruises on her face, probably concealed with makeup. His eyes traveled from her deep hazel eyes down to her lean body. He noticed that her knees were lightly skinned as well. For the most part, she was unharmed.

"The pleasure is mine," Bruce exchanged with a charming half-smile, sure to swoon any woman. Miss Collins however, remained unfazed, still holding strong eye contact with her glossy eyes. Alfred discreetly exited the room as Bruce began the interview. "Usually, my acquaintance Mr. Fox has the resumes mailed to him, but unfortunately those are at Wayne Enterprises," he said. "I suppose we'll just have to make do." She nodded, taking a seat across from Bruce.

"How old are you?" he asked, more for curiosity's sake. She appeared to be very young, early twenties, if that. He could easily find someone more qualified for the job, but he found her dedication to him last night rather intriguing. He guessed that he would hire her regardless of how poor her answers were.

"Twenty one," she divulged. He nodded, then inquired about college. "At first, I studied sciences, but soon began taking some business courses." Bruce easily masked his disapproval at her statement concerning science. He could have used a scientist to assist Fox. Somehow, he anticipated that she was more intelligent then she let on.

"Sounds good enough to me," Bruce concluded, clapping his hands together. "I've been looking for a personal assistant for a while now, and you seem to be perfect for the job," he lied, smirking marginally at her bewildered expression.

"_That's it_? I'm hired?" she questioned lamely. "You've only asked me two questions!" she exclaimed. He held his hand up to quiet her, still grinning slightly.

"I wasn't under the impression that you wanted this to be difficult, Miss," he said smoothly. She looked at him begrudgingly, then seemed to remember her current position.

"Please, call me Blake," she said lightly. He laughed aloud at how quickly her feigned scholarly attitude appeared and disappeared. Her eyes flickered to his, silently wondering why he laughed.

"All right, Blake," Bruce said. "I expect you at the offices at nine tomorrow. I'll confirm your hours and pay with you then." He laughed again at her confused expression, then lazily guided her to the door, where Alfred waited. They exchanged goodbyes, and the elderly butler closed the door.

Bruce pondered over her for some time. Her spontaneous outburst provided him with a strange amusement. She reminded him of himself, he thought. She came across sophisticated, and boring. Although it was simple to figure out who she wasn't, Bruce couldn't pin point who she was. He led two lives as well, but his situation was intensely magnified; unless she also ran around at night dressed as a bat. Bruce briefly wondered who _he_ was: the Prince of Gotham? Or its savior, the Dark Knight?

**Author's Note:**  
**Thanks for reading! This is my first story here, and I know it's starting off sort of slow, but there will be more Batman soon. I'm sure there's a few errors in there, so if you see any, feel free to let me know. **  
**Also! This isn't going to be following any of the movies exactly. It's sort of an alternate universe, but most of the characters will be the same, aside from my OC, Blake. She is _not_ in relation to John Blake. I guess that was a confusing mistake on my part, sorry! Finally, Rachael isn't going to exist in this. And if she does for some reason, there will be no romance between her and Bruce. If I had to say, this is sort of around the Dark Knight time period.**


	3. Chapter 3

After leaving Wayne Manor, I occupied my time by becoming more familiar with Gotham. I purchased clothes that I deemed appropriate for work, and had a monstrous meal at a vintage cafe in the center of town. For the most part, I wandered around aimlessly, avoiding the shadier parts of the city. To my misfortune, I had to pass through the most dangerous streets to reach my lonely abode.

Once again, my curious feet carried me to wear I last saw the Bat. I found myself hoping that I would see him, despite the remaining daylight steadily succumbing to darkness. I was disappointed that seeing a costumed man was all I had to look forward to in my life, but nevertheless, I discreetly looked for him. The fire escapes appeared bare, nor did I notice anyone parading across the rooftops. I even overturned a couple of trash cans. With a dramatic sigh, I headed in the approximate direction of my apartment. I felt an abrupt gust of air on the back of my neck, and I turned around in surprise. He landed in front of me in a crouched position and straightened his legs until he was over a foot taller than me.

"You shouldn't be looking for me," the Bat mumbled, his lips hardly parting as he spoke. Without realizing it, I took a large step back, frowning at my cowardice. Apparently my search wasn't as subtle as I thought. My eyes slowly drifted upwards to his menacing stare. I guessed his eyes were a deep brown hue, but it was difficult to tell due to the curve of his intricate mask.

"I'm not looking for you," I said in denial. "I'm looking for my apartment," I snapped, crossing my arms against my chest. My body remained rigid, still considering the Bat a potential threat. For all I knew, he could be a serial killer. I earnestly hoped that I wasn't his next victim. The Bat must have decided to spare me, because he replied to my bitter statement.

"In the trash barrel?" he asked pointedly. I opened my mouth to say something, but settled on a pathetic scowl. "You're going to get hurt," the Bat threatened angrily, turning to leave.

"Wait!" I called, walking forward. "Who are you?" The Bat didn't respond, instead choosing to turn down a shadowy trail. His actions _were_ rather bat-like, I mused. I listened to his light footsteps fade away, then squinted down the alleyway after him. He had disappeared, like a ghost. I grumbled at his brisk visit, continuing on my way.

A raw hand grasped my shoulder, and I glanced back, expecting the Bat. I recognized the man as one of the dealers from last night. He grinned slightly as he remembered me, then steered me down the alley. I struggled against his grip, but failed to pull away.

"Ey boss!" he yelled. "I found tha bitch I was tellin' you bout last night!" I noticed the same crowd of men, but with a few strange additions. There were six guys dressed as clowns loading crates from the dealer's van into their own. I laughed sorely to myself. Gotham was just one big fucking costume party.

"The Crow isn't uh, here at the moment," a voice drawled. I looked around for the person speaking, and my eyes landed on a smiling figure standing amongst the clowns. His greasy hair was a worn green, with obvious blonde roots. He wore poorly done white face makeup, and had black smeared around his eyes. I wasn't truly frightened until I saw the scars that extended from his mouth to his cheeks, covered in red lipstick. Well, at least I _thought_ it was lipstick. He was dressed in a dirty green vest, which was covered by a purple trench coat. I winced at his getup.

"I suppose," he began with a devilish grin. "That none of you are useful to me anymore." He tapped his chin, as if thinking, as the men from last night looked at him in fear. He gestured for an armed clown to come over to him, then took the gun from his hand. As I watched in horror, he planted a bullet in someone's forehead, and his clowns followed his lead. Within a minute, the dealers were bleeding out on the concrete, and I was standing next to the man who found me. A knife glinted in the head clown's hand.

"Scarecrow's not gonna like this," the man muttered, pressing me to the front of his body like a shield. I groaned at my predicament. I was the only thing standing between the clown's knife, and the condemned man. "We had a deal," he continued boldly. "You got the drug!"

"Did I?" the malign clown snarled, his voice rising. "I think all I received was a couple bottles of air." My captor shivered against me, pulling me closer to him by my waist. The clown's glare turned to me as he flashed a yellowed grin, then looked back to the man. "Now, I uh don't think we want anybody finding out about this." He took a step forward, until I could feel his breath. I ducked as he plunged the knife into my captor's neck. Rolling away, I narrowly avoided landing under the dying body.

"What's your part in all of this, beautiful?" the clown inquired, smoothing back his oily hair with a gloved hand. He lifted me by the collar of my blouse, and observed me curiously. I self-consciously tried to adjust my scrunched up skirt, currently regretting my interview outfit. He trailed his leather gloves across my lips as I leaned away from him. "Wanna know how I got these scars?"

"Bad day at the circus?" I guessed with a smirk of my own. His upturned lips opened as he released a piercing chuckle. Then he pressed his white scarred cheek to my smoother one, and spoke into my ear.

"Never heard that one before, _darling_," he sneered. "But I don't like when people talk back to me," the clown hissed. I resisted the urge to gulp. "I uh, think our little sojourn has concluded." When I felt the cold metal of his knife forced to my neck, I panicked. I recoiled harshly from his nonchalant grip, pushing myself off of him. I scanned the area, then dashed down a side street before he could aim his gun at me.

"Well?" I heard him exclaim. "Get her! Or I'll, uh, kill all of you!" When I turned again, another gloved hand came over my mouth. As he pulled me farther down the alleyway, I ripped his hand off irritably.

"I've had just about enough of this shit today," I said angrily. "So I suggest y.." I trailed off when I realized that I was face to face with the Bat. "You couldn't have appeared a bit earlier, huh?" I complained pathetically.

"I was preoccupied," he replied. To my surprise, he expanded on his statement. "The Scarecrow was planning on delivering a certain drug to the Joker. I had to make sure that he didn't receive it." I was pleased to know that I had fresh information for him.

"It was still handed over," I countered. "But Bozo the clown found out it was fake, then killed everyone." The Bat looked at me in bewilderment, probably wondering how I knew that. Nevertheless, I continued. "Frankly, I don't think either side was going to hold up their end of the bargain." From what I gathered, the Scarecrow was exchanging a drug with the clown for something in return, most likely money. I doubted either side was on friendly terms at the moment.

"The Joker had you?" he said with a growl. "And you lived?" I realized that the clown was called the Joker, a rather fitting name, I decided. I quickly explained to the Bat how I encountered the Joker, and may have _slightly_ exaggerated my simple escape. Abruptly, he stopped walking and tilted his head as if he was listening. I heard a pair of gaudy footsteps nearing us.

A grinning figure planted itself beneath a street light, casually leaning against it. The Joker brushed his faded green hair from his face, and straightened his tie mockingly. The clown extracted a knife from his trench coat and flipped it open, his smirk never leaving his disfigured face. Why the Hell did I move to Gotham?

**Author's Note:  
Thanks for reading! I'm planning on editing this chapter to make it slightly less confusing, so please bare with me until then. I know, the chapters a sort of short, but when school gets out I'll be able to update more frequently. Please review, whether you like it or think it sucks...any and all reviews are appreciated!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

"Why, if it isn't the Batman," the clown said, curling his lips. "I've been anticipating a meeting with you." I briefly wondered if _the Batman_ was the vigilante's official title, or simply a pet name from the Joker.

"Joker," the Batman snarled, taking a protective stance in front of me. This transparent action caused a clutter of emotions to flood through my mind. Should I be flattered that he wanted to keep me out of harms way? Or offended that he deemed me too weak to fortify myself? I took a step away from the Bat to get a better view.

The Joker glared harshly at the ground, his hollow eyes peeking up just enough to meet mine. Cowardly, I looked away, breaking his cold gaze. A group of his goons settled in behind their boss, threateningly cracking their knuckles and brandishing weapons. For a moment, I pitied their feeble attempt to induce fear. Unlike the Joker, his followers bore no jagged scars across their mouth. They resembled circus clowns, where as the Joker looked like he popped out of a Stephen King book.

"Are we gonna fight or what, Batboy?" the Joker whined, his voice randomly fluctuating between exceedingly high and gravely low. When he realized the Batman wasn't going to respond, his eyes flickered to me. "Y'know, I never _did_ get to tell you how I got these scars," he said, licking his lips. "Would ya like to know?" Damn, this guy was really pressing his story.

"Not particularly," I remarked with a roll of my eyes. His smile dropped suddenly as he feigned hurt at my comment, delicately placing his hand over his heart. If he had one, that is. I bravely stepped out from behind Batman. "Frankly, your first time shaving doesn't interest me," I said snidely, trying not to grin. His hunched shoulders shook with laughter while he wagged his knife at me playfully. The clowns began to advance on us, a revealing handguns, knives, and a couple of crowbars. The Joker leaned back against a street light to observe the Bat.

"Batty, Batty, Batty," the clown said accusingly. "Your little girlfriend here is _quite_ feisty. But, you are _sort_ of wasting my time." I ignored the Joker's relentless taunting, and looked to my right at the Batman, as he sprung forward to attack the men. The Batman disarmed a man, raising his knee and flipping the man over it. In a way, it was strangely beautiful. He fought with a certain calmness; he was _graceful_.

I watched in awe as he grabbed someone's arm, and snapped it like a twig. The man dropped his handgun as he fell to the ground in pain. I eagerly reached for the gun, and grasped it. I gave it a concise examination, trying to recall anything I knew about shooting. Just pull the trigger, right?

While attempting to figure out if the gun was loaded, I wondered if the Joker was still by the street light. As I turned back, I came face to face with the clown himself. He laughed quietly, then resumed our previous position; his knife against my neck. Before he could look at me too closely, I hid the gun behind me. He lead me to a brick wall, harshly pressing my back against it. I opened my mouth to call for the Batman, who was distracted by the final two goons.

"Shhh," he murmured, holding my chin up to him, as if looking into my soul. "Don't make a sound, or I'll _kill_ ya," he whispered. I yelled out anyways, pulling away from him subsequently. I gasped as he embedded the knife in my left shoulder, grinning wildly. Since he was no longer holding a weapon, I slammed my gun down on his head, causing him to back away from me, cursing to himself. He backed into the Bat, who had just finished up with the last of the men.

The world around me blurred.

I collapsed to the ground, gingerly glancing at my wound. My shirt sleeve had absorbed some of the dark red liquid, but the rest was running down my arm. I groaned in pain as I pulled the knife out, sighing in relief when I realized it wasn't extremely deep. I had very limited medical knowledge, and nothing to tourniquet it with, so I decided there wasn't much more I could do. I glanced up at the Batman, who was handcuffing the Joker to the street light. He took out a cell phone, and murmured something into it.

"You're not gonna-uh _kill_ me, Bat?" the Joker questioned mockingly, sliding his cuffs down the post so he could sit down. The Batman hurried over to me, his hand gripping a black device attached to his belt, and only when he pulled it out, did I realize his intentions.

"Not today, Joker," he snarled, bending towards me. I grunted in surprise as he gently tossed me over his shoulder, steadying me by my lower thighs. I heard the grappling hook clash against metal, then a moment of stillness. Just as I was about to question the hook's effectiveness, we were jerked upwards. I wrapped my arms around the vigilante's thick waist, pressing my cheek against his warm body armor. I caught a glimpse of the Joker observing me with a bemused expression. He focused in on the Batman, analyzing him critically.

The wire from the grappling hook twisted, causing my face to crash harshly into a cruel brick wall. I groaned, praying the clown hadn't seen that. The Bat heaved himself on top of the building, then set me down in front of him, calculating my reaction. I deftly un-bunched my skirt, and looked up at him, holding my arm limply to my side.

"Sorry," he rasped apologetically, his dark mask framing a grimace. The hulking vigilante frowned as he examined my wound. He looped his arm around my waist, supporting most of my weight as he shepherded me across the rooftops. After a long, dreadfully silent jog, I spoke my mind.

"Why did you leave him there?," I asked bluntly, my voice cracking because of the throbbing gash on my arm. "You could have taken him down. I've seen you fight a dozen men at once, hardly breaking a sweat. And for god's sake, the man is convinced he's a clown!"

"And leave you defenseless, sporting a wound? You shouldn't be living in the Narrows, let alone fending off criminals!" he argued. I blinked, unaware I was the cause of his fleeing. "You're untrained. You would be dead in a minute." The way he said it made me feel like he was testing me. _Taunting_ me.

"Then teach me," I proposed candidly. "Teach me to fight." For a second, I thought he was considering my proposal, until he leaned into me, once again throwing me over his shoulder.

"Would you stop that?" I exclaimed, struggling against him to no avail. I would have attempted to punch him in the face, if I wasn't concerned that his mask would shatter every bone in my bloody hand. I released a sharp breath as he jumped off the side of the building, landing hard on a rickety fire escape. Rather than take the stairs, he felt the need to swing over the edge of each railing, and descend into the level below. Was he trying to prove something? I could already tell the extent of what he was physically capable of. For all I knew, he could just be trying to irritate me.

I breathed a sigh of relief as he hit the rigid pavement. He jogged around a corner, revealing a tank-like vehicle. It was dark, and massive, yet somehow blending in with the shadow of the building. I wasn't even sure how many wheels there were.

He punched in a code on a keypad while his other hand was placed securely on my legs. The door opened, and he leaned over to guide me into the passenger seat, avoiding my bleeding shoulder. I found the seat belt and clicked it in, praying that this car wouldn't fly. He slammed the door behind him, and started the purring engine. I marveled at the luxurious exterior of the car, musing over how a vigilante could afford something like this.

"Are we going to a hospital?" I inquired tentatively, hoping that I wasn't bleeding on his clean seats. He shook his head and expertly backed out of the alley, driving deeper into the Narrows.

"Too predictable," he murmured. "It's not too deep, and I have supplies." The vehicle had brought us down a few more streets, and was now heading through a forest area, the speedometer flickering around a hundred. I peered through the windshield, amazed that there was a waterfall ahead. A waterfall in Gotham! Who would've thought?

I clung to my seat as the Batman steered us directly at it, flooring the gas pedal. I glanced at him in alarm as we burst through the pounding water, landing roughly in some sort of cave. He slowed down dramatically bringing us deeper into the cave. I probably should have figured the Bat lived in a cave.

We exited the vehicle, and he ushered me into the high-tech cave. There were panels of controls, monitors, and mysterious weapons lining the walls, the waterfall flowing along the back. He gestured for me to sit down in a random chair, then crouched beside me, wielding a needle, and disinfectants. He cleaned the blood around my arm, then positioned the needle by the gash.

"This might hurt," he said simply, before piercing my skin. I bit my lip, resisting the tears threatening to cloud my eyes. He weaved the needle through my flesh, skillfully sealing the gash. I distracted myself by musing over the fact that the Batman was kneeling beside me, caring for my wound. He cut the thread then wrapped my shoulder tightly in gauze. He peered at me, as if gauging my reaction.

"I'll make sure you get home," he stated, rather spontaneously. Before I could question him, he removed a needle from a case, holding it up to my arm and inserting a fluid. Immediately, I felt the drug's effects. My vision became dim, the room swirling around me. I sensed sympathetic arms sweep me into their clutch, and then my sensations dissolved entirely.

**Author's Note:**  
**Hi! Sorry that took so long! I rushed to put this one up for you guys, hopefully you like it. Let me know if anyone seems out of character, or if Batman seems to wimpy or something. Yeah, tell me if you like it. Like I said before, I'm planning on going through and fixing all of the chapters when I get a chance, I've already noticed quite a few things that can be improved on. I know I definetly need to even out the sentence flow, if that makes again for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

Subsequent to waking up on my own bed, I dressed myself, then prepared to walk out the door. Just as I was reaching for the knob, I heard a light knock. Hesitantly, I opened the door until I could see who was out there. A twenty-something girl stood a few feet away, carrying one box in her arms, and pushing a larger one with her feet. The light brown-haired girl was slightly chubby, and an average height. She smiled when she noticed me.

"Oh, hi," she said brightly. "I noticed some packages for you downstairs, so I decided to bring them up to you. Before anyone stole them or something." Her expression changed, suddenly taking on a look of sheepishness. "That's not weird, right?" I laughed; she was incredibly awkward.

"No it's fine, thanks," I grinned. That must have been the stuff I requested for my parents to mail to me. "I'm Blake, by the way." I held my hand out to shake hers, and laughed when she thought I was giving her a high-five. I wasn't sure if she was stupid, or simply clumsy. "I should probably be getting to work though. I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, sure," she agreed with a wave. "And I'm Aden." I gave her a friendly smile, then vacated my apartment.

I took a taxi to Wayne Enterprises. As I pushed through the revolving door, I nervously grasped the sheer white fabric of my shirt. Instead of a dress, I chose to wear sleeves that extended to my elbow, concealing the puckered wound from the previous night, which I had numbed with some Ibuprofen. I didn't want my coworkers to think I was some sort of mobster.

I wasn't, was I? I _had_ been involved in more than one fight alongside the Batman, despite my meager abilities. I _had_ hit the Joker with a gun, and received an awfully bloody battle scar. I had also fully intended to shoot the Joker, should he have threatened my life again. I wouldn't kill anyone though, and that's what separated me from the criminals of Gotham.

"Excuse me, Miss?" a young, redheaded secretary repeated impatiently. "If you're Blake Collins, Mr. Wayne is expecting you on the seventy seventh floor." I nodded thankfully, entering the elevator and hitting the last button. Fortunately, I wasn't afraid of heights.

Exiting the elevator, I made my way up to another desk, where a female secretary was glaring daggers at me. The blonde appeared dramatically overdressed for her job, leading me to assume that she was here for the playboy, not the career. She wore a tight red and black dress that barely covered anything, and severe makeup. Still, that didn't explain why this woman took such an instant dislike towards me.

"Miss Collins, you're early," Bruce Wayne greeted suavely, stepping out of an office. He wore a dark gray suit, complemented by a burgundy tie. His hair was lightly gelled to the side, giving him the businessman look. I noticed how he had very visible dark circles beneath his eyes. Strange, how a man with the world at his fingertips, couldn't manage to get sufficient sleep.

"I hadn't realized, " I said politely, pretending to glance at the clock. What was I expected to say now? "I can come back later if now isn't a good time?" He shook his head, a loose smile playing at his lips, then motioned for me to follow him into his office.

I sat across from him on a firm white sofa as he discussed the details of my job. The pay was generous, but the lack of set hours was concerning. It seemed like I was supposed to accompany him to the meetings and lunches that he attended, and also show up at the office to "assist him". In my opinion, Bruce Wayne didn't really need a personal assistant. Or maybe he just didn't want one.

"Essentially, you'll be here only when I need you," Mr. Wayne clarified. "There would be no significance in having you sit around doing nothing." I dutifully agreed, watching as he downed perhaps the largest cup of coffee I had ever seen. He set the mug down on his desk, his eyes looking like they were resisting sleep. "For your first job, I would appreciate some coffee. No need to hurry." I nodded compliantly, wondering if he had a Keurig or something.

"I'll get right on that," I said, standing from the coach and leaving the room with a tight smile. I tentatively approached the scowling secretary. She looked up at me disdainfully, removing her manicured fingers from the keyboard. She gave me a snark smile.

"Sorry to bother you, but do you know where to get Mr. Wayne's coffee?" I asked kindly. She was thoughtful for a moment before she responded.

"Yes, there's a small coffee shop at the Gotham Public Library a few streets down. I believe that's where he usually gets it." she advised. Dammit. I seemed to get myself into trouble every time I left my apartment; but there were clearly no coffee machines up here, and I doubted that would be good enough for Mr. Wayne anyways.

Still, I left Wayne Enterprises and took the subway to the library.

* * *

Gotham Public Library was an impressive stone building, located off of a main street. Strangely, none of the parking spaces around the structure were occupied, and it seemed unusually barren as well. I climbed the wide stairs and peered into a window, seeing only darkness. Then I noticed the library's hours posted on the door, and groaned in realization. Now where was I supposed to get his coffee?

I wandered down the stone steps, hoping to find a coffee shop somewhere on the way back. As I walked away, I became aware of an eerie presence, although the library appeared deserted.

_ Click Click._

The unmistakable sound broke the dead silence, as cool metal was thrust between my shoulder blades. I turned around in surprise as the blonde secretary trained a metallic black pistol on me. I reflexively stepped away.

"I don't know what J want's with you, _doll_," she hissed. "But I don't think you'll like it. Now get in the van." She stood in front of a white van, clenching her pistol in one hand. I innocently raised my arms to show my submission, then walked slowly towards the vehicle. When she was hardly a foot away from me, I reached out and smacked the gun from her grasp. In a delayed reaction, the gun fired, shattering the window behind my head. I narrowly avoided the shards of tinted glass as they splintered in every direction.

I pushed her harshly against the van, knocking her head against the white metal. She shoved me off of her and delivered a punch below my ribs. I emitted a grunt, then retaliated with a crude, but forceful punch to her jaw. A crack filled the air as her head slammed back into the body of the car. She groaned weakly, spitting blood onto my shirt. Her hands flew up to her jaw, trying to put it back into place.

While she was distracted, I snatched the pistol from the ground, fingering the trigger. Ironically, I was in the same position as last night; I was given a second chance to kill someone. Yet, the result would be the same each time. I directed the gun towards her, but paused. The woman laughed bitterly as I clicked the safety back on.

"Blake," a gentle, yet firm voice interjected. I whirled around, seeing Bruce Wayne standing across the street, exiting a silver Murcielago. He approached me delicately, then tilted his head towards the secretary with a raised eyebrow. I wasn't sure if he was impressed or disappointed. If anything, he was taken aback. "You did this?" I nodded, biting my lip uneasily. I was going to be fired during my first hour at Wayne Enterprises.

"I should have realized it was her," he muttered quietly to himself, taking out his phone. He dialed a number, then put his ear up to the phone. "Yes, my suspicions were confirmed. We're at the library." I glanced at him in confusion, repeatedly looking back to make sure that the whining woman hadn't moved. He stuck the phone back into his pocket, then made eye contact with me.

"Who is she?" I inquired lamely. "I was under the impression that she was your secretary."

"Hardly," he replied with a scoff. "She's a convict, working for the Joker." My eyes widened at this, even more so at his next grim statement. "And it looks like he's after you."

* * *

Commissioner Gordon, a kind, worn out man, arrived at the scene a few minutes later. I was questioned briefly about my involvement, and then the woman was taken into custody. As the cop car drove away, she sneered at me through the dark barred window.

"For future reference, there's a coffee shop in Wayne Enterprises," he informed me, to my dismay. I hadn't realized I was so gullible. "I'll show you it now. I believe there's some information you should be acquainted with concerning Gotham." Bruce Wayne was taking me out for coffee? My life couldn't get much stranger at this point.

I was shocked when the Prince of Gotham opened the car door for me, allowing me to anxiously slide in. Perhaps Bruce Wayne wasn't who I thought he was.

**Author's Note:**  
**I updated a little early...probably should have edited it more. Anyhow, did you like it? Too much going on? Is Bruce too nice? Let me know what you're thinking!**


	6. Chapter 6

I sat across from Bruce Wayne holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate, but feeling too nervous to drink it. He gulped down more than one large coffee while I remained silent, waiting for him to speak. As he lifted the mug to his lips, I surveyed light bruising under his chin. I didn't take Wayne for the type to fall down the stairs.

"How did you get that bruise?" I inquired randomly, pointing to his defined jaw.

"I was mugged the other day," he responded simply, brushing my comment off with a wave of his hand. His dark eyes avoided mine. "Anyhow, there's some things I think you should be aware of while living in the Narrows. I don't want any employees getting injured, especially my assistant." I curiously regarded his former statement.

"How do you know where I live?" I asked suspiciously, furrowing my eyebrows.

"I recall you submitted resume to us, which I reviewed," Wayne said, like it should be obvious. I was surprised that such an influential figure knew things about his employees. He pushed a fresh newspaper across the table, the headline popping out at me: "Batman Puts Crane Behind Bars", and then beneath the title was a vague picture of the Batman himself. For some reason, l was slightly put off that Batman was actually a _thing_. I had deluded myself into thinking that I was the only person who knew of him; clearly I should read more newspapers.

Gotham seemed to keep to itself. There was never any talk of Batman or the Joker back in Boston.

"What about him?" I questioned my boss, noting the strained movement of his arms as he pulled the paper back. My gaze lingered on the photo, trying to relate the still image of Batman to the fierce man I'd met on multiple occasions.

"Have you seen him?" His eyes peered deeply into mine, urging me to tell him everything I knew; but my mind was already made up. I had no reason to go around spreading rumors about the Bat.

"Nope," I replied, with a pop of my lips. "I've been here less than a week, and I haven't exactly been screwing around with the mafia. Or whatever it is you have here." His lip turned upwards momentarily, for reasons unbeknownst to me. "Anyways, is there a reason why your secretary wanted to kill me?" He nodded, absently rubbing his shoulder.

"Her name was Harleen Quinzel, she was a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum," he began, pieces of hair falling in his face. "They assigned her to the Joker, and not long after she helped him break out. Somehow, she loves the sociopath," he added disdainfully. I cringed, wondering who could love a cold-blooded killer. Apparently, only an unstable psychiatrist.

"Why did you say her name _was_ Harleen Quinzel?" I said curiously, meeting his strangely persistent eye-contact.

"Now it's just one word. She's his Harlequin, and sadly naive assistant," he frowned, taking a swig of espresso before continuing. "Blake, I don't think it's safe for you to be living where you are. I would recommend looking into another place, I can suggest some-" I gently cut him off.

"Don't worry about it, I can defend myself," I stated. Bruce Wayne didn't look convinced, so I released a sigh. "Sort of." I recalled the past few days resentfully, and my pitiful attempts to fight off attackers. If the Batman hadn't showed up, I would have been long dead. I held on to a feeble hope that he would take up my offer, and teach me to fight. But why would he? If he just trained random people on the street, Gotham would be full of muggers skilled in the martial arts.

Then I recalled the most recent fight, from which I emerged victoriously. Although I obviously lacked skill, I _could_ do some damage while jacked up on adrenaline.

"Perhaps you could at least look into self-defense classes?" he suggested, his brown eyes demanding my acceptance. His words were soft, but his expression was stoney, warning me that refusal would be difficult. I wondered why he cared at all, I was completely and utterly replaceable. I was inexperienced, rendering me as disposable. Why give his help to a poor, stupid girl, living in the Narrows?

"I've actually just started training with someone, " I lied, trying to end the conversation there, and make my escape. Bruce Wayne wasn't quite so willing.

"With who?" he asked, looking skeptical. His forehead was creased, like he was lost in thought, probably thinking about who would possibly agree to train me. I struggled to answer his question. I couldn't just say Batman was teaching me, for obvious reasons. Plus, he wasn't teaching me anyhow, he most likely hadn't even heard my request. Still, I decided to dig myself a deeper grave.

"Oh just this guy I know-Bat-Bart. Not like Bart Simpson, just Bart, " I rambled, shamefully stringing together unintelligible sentences."Yeah, he's a friend. Nice guy," I concluded thoughtfully. Wayne observed my scattered expression, releasing a small, but masculine chuckle. I was rather surprised at him showing emotion. From what I had heard, Bruce Wayne only cared about models, money, and sports cars.

"All right, I get it. You don't want to tell me," he said with a polite shrug. _Shit_, he caught onto my lies. "Just don't get caught up in anything dangerous." I nodded in agreement as he continued explaining the constant risk of living in the Narrows. I completely spaced out, instead contently gazing at Bruce's face. His potent jaw and harsh eyes demonstrated his clear manliness. I blushed lightly at my shameful thoughts, which drifted to his undeniable attractiveness, and chivalry.

Not that a man like him would ever be involved with someone like me. He could have anyone he wanted, so why choose a plain girl living in a shabby apartment?

"-and you've had a rather rough day today," Wayne concurred with a sympathetic smile. "I'll arrange a ride home for you." I bit my lip nervously, dreading the idea of an awkward car ride with my boss. Before I could protest, he pulled out a touch screen phone and typed a quick message to someone.

A waitress came to our table with the bill, sending a flirtatious glance in Bruce Wayne's direction, to which he responded with a calm, inviting smile. I clenched my teeth together. _What a man whore. _It was impressive that he could maintain his composure around me, when in reality he probably wanted to run in the other direction. Or have on of his servants carry him.

The scowl remained plastered to my face as I walked beside my superior out of the front entrance and into the menacing Gotham air.

* * *

A Lamborghini came to a stop in front of me. I stood totally still, reveling in the sheer beauty of the car. I sent a questioning look at Wayne, as if asking if this was really happening. He was preoccupied, arguing with someone on his expensive phone. When we made eye contact, he gave me an apologetic wave then strode back into Wayne Enterprises.

A familiar older man exited the driver's seat and rather expertly opened the passenger door for me. I numbly watched the shiny metal slide upwards, my mouth popping open in awe. The man observed me quietly for a second, then laughed good-naturedly and ushered me into the vehicle before returning to his seat. I gently slid into the car, the door shutting itself. Fleetingly, I wondered why he had opened the door for me if it could shut itself. I grinned at the man anyways, holding my hand out to firmly shake his.

"Alfred," I greeted fondly, remembering him. "It's great to see you again." He started the car and continued onto the main street.

"My pleasure, Miss," Alfred replied, shooting a warm smile in my direction. I released a random sigh of relief that I wouldn't be driving with Bruce Wayne. If he saw the building I lived in, he would fire my for sure. I was surprised he hadn't laid me off already; I'd given him enough reasons to.

"Mr. Wayne would like me to inform you of a lunch meeting on Wednesday at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. You'll be meeting him at noon by the entrance," Alfred said. Wednesday? That meant that I had Tuesday off, which would provide me with enough time to do some much needed shopping.

"Thanks for letting me know," I responded as he turned into the Narrows. The contrast between the Lamborghini and the general feel of the Narrows was ironic. Bruce was definitely putting his car at risk by providing me with a ride. I comforted myself with the thought that he probably had ten more of these anyhow.

Within a few minutes, we were stopped in front of my apartment. The door slid open, and I managed to get out without incident. After a moment's dispute, I leaned my head back into the car.

"Alfred?" I said. "Why did you open the door for me before?" His lightly wrinkled face went blank; he hadn't thought I would notice.

"It's not often that Mr. Wayne brings a girl out for coffee, Miss," he answered simply. "I hope you have a pleasant day off." The door shut as I waved at him, shocked into silence.

In a daze, I stiffly walked into the apartment, my thoughts swirling.

**Author's Note:**  
**Wow. I am so sorry I made you guys wait so long. Plus, this chapter sort of sucks. I just wanted to get this posted, next chapter will be better, AND will be posted sooner. Please forgive me!**


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